


The Obligation

by All_the_damned_vampires



Series: Fostered in Ios [1]
Category: Captive Prince - C. S. Pacat
Genre: AU-Damen Mentors Laurent, AU-The Regent's Betrayal is Revealed, Alternate Universe - Nicaise Lives, Gen, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Mentor/Protégé
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-18
Updated: 2016-08-18
Packaged: 2018-08-09 12:45:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,387
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7802395
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/All_the_damned_vampires/pseuds/All_the_damned_vampires
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Marlas falls and Auguste is slain, the Regent takes command.  However, his scheme is revealed and he is executed for his crimes.  Despite wanting nothing to do with Vere, Damianos is tasked with guiding and mentoring Prince Laurent in the wake of his father's and brother's deaths.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Obligation

**Author's Note:**

> This is an AU that plays around with the idea of Damen and Laurent meeting when they were much younger. In the books, it's a very romantic fantasy--Damen pictures himself courting a young Laurent and becoming friends with Auguste. 
> 
> That's not what happens here.
> 
> This is the story of how everyone knows the Regent is a piece of shit, Auguste is unfortunately dead, everyone still hates Damen's guts, and Akielos is trying to repair the damage and peacefully secure the Veretian throne.
> 
> And Nicaise is along for the ride so I played with his age/the timeline a bit. Basically, I wanted Damen outnumbered and outmatched by two smart-ass prepubescent boys.
> 
> With regards to the Regent and his penchant for children: in this story Nicaise has already been the Regent's pet for a year. Any and all abuse experienced by either Nicaise or Laurent is only referenced; none appears in this story.

_You'll find him in the crypt_ , they said, eyes averted as Damen passed, stepping back against the decorative murals that lined the walls of Marlas. He was used it, this recoil from his person, but it wasn't spurred by his status as a prince, as heir to the Akielon throne, by a desire to show respect and honor.

 No, it was horror.

 _Damianos, Prince-killer_ , unwitting enemy agent in a scheme against the crown.  The avatar in the hand of a traitor, the King of Vere's own brother.  The murderer of Auguste, Vere's golden prince.  Any Veretian who crossed his path instinctively drew back, looked away.

It made Damen shudder, although he suppressed his shivers of disgust with the ease of court training.  He had thought his contempt of Veretians and their twisted, trickster ways could grow no greater, but the revelations of the Regent's betrayal had sent him reeling.

Brother against brother.

If not for the bravery of the court physician who had unmasked his own brother's role in the murder of the Veretian king, the coup might have remained hidden forever.  The Veretian king's brother had murdered both the king and his eldest son, in a bid for the throne.

And he had used war with Akielos and Damen's own sword as a way to keep his own hands bloodless.

Damen wanted nothing more than to go home, to be rid of this place.  To not see another twisted, angry mouth, or eyes downcast in defeat and despair.  He wanted to go home.

He couldn't.  Not yet.  There was one more thing to do.

 _We will show them honor,_ Damen's father had insisted.  _We will show them the nobility of Akielos_.

And Damen, ever the dutiful son, had bowed his head and done as his father bid.

A pair of Akielon soldiers followed discreetly as his back, although Damen saw no need.  Marlas, Vere's great fort, belonged to Akielos now.  It teemed with Akielon soldiers, servants, craftsmen and slaves; the Akielons who had followed the war drum up from the capital city of Ios and into Vere.  Furthermore that nation had been broken; it's King and Crown Prince murdered and the King's brother—crowned Regent for only 48 hours—hanged.  Vere's Council—the statesmen who prided themselves on advising the King—were disorganized and reeling.

Vere's future king, the last remaining member of his line, was just a thirteen year old boy.

The temperature dropped  in the hallway as Damen approached the door leading to the underground crypt and he gestured for the soldiers to wait.  He had to confront a grieving child, one who had lost all.  A boy who had shrugged off his chaperones and fled to the bier that held the body of his dead brother. 

Damen would shoulder his duty alone.

Down the stone steps and into the dim space, the cold air raising gooseflesh on Damen's exposed arms and legs.  The space was lined with rows and rows of stone caskets—carved in that particularly intricate, eye-crossing Veretian style.  He turned his eyes to the left, where the King and his beloved son were still laid out in state, bodies draped in blue and gold cloth, decorated with the sunburst of Vere.

Pain exploded in his thigh.

Stifling a yelp, Damen pivoted away. His shoulder—injured in his swordfight with Auguste—burned with pain as he reached for the sword at his hip, spinning to assess the attack.

"Murderer!" hissed a voice in Veretian.

Standing in his path was a small, tousle-haired boy.

The boy was slight, perhaps  eleven or twelve years old, with huge blue eyes framed with dark lashes.  His laced-up Veretian clothes covered him up to his neck and wrists, and were certainly better suited for the chilled crypt than Damen's brief, Akielon garments. Sighing, Damen holstered his sword.

"Get out!" the child screamed.  He had a small knife in his hand, gold plated, the type of utensil one might see set out with the evening meal.

He made another lunge at Damen and he side-stepped it easily.  Gently catching the child by the wrist, he squeezed with enough pressure to cause the knife to topple to the floor.  Damen looked down. The wound to Damen's thigh was shallow, a scrape.  It stung like hell.

"I mean you no harm," Damen said in Veretian.  He knew his accent was good, although the child furrowed his brows as he listened to the words.  Then he swung one skinny leg up in a surprisingly well-aimed kick.

"But I mean harm to you! Son of a whore!"

"My mother was the Queen of Akielos," Damen countered, smiling slightly.  Could this be the Veretian prince?  The boy's hair was brown, not blond, but he was beautiful. "I'm not the son of a whore."

"No," the boy sneered, "That would be your brother, wouldn't it?  Your king dips his cock in whatever cesspool he pleases! Your dick is probably as pox-ridden as his!"

"Enough!" Damen commanded, somewhat taken aback by the filth spewing from the boy's tiny pink mouth, as well as the insult to his family.

The boy opened his mouth again, spit frothing at the corners, when a soft, low voice said, "Enough."

Another boy, near about the same age, stepped around the royal bier.  This one was just as slender, but with gilt hair –silver-gold and pretty as fox fur—brushed back from a fine, pale forehead.

"Laurent--!"

"Your prince," corrected Laurent, crown prince of Vere, but he didn't step closer.

"Prince Laurent," the other boy snarled, "I'm going to kill him."

Damen took the opportunity to slide the knife away with the side of his foot.

"And be hung for killing the Akielon heir?  I'd thought you smarter than that, Nicaise," Laurent said.  There was an undercurrent of derision in the words, and Nicaise stiffened in indignation like an angry cat.

"You know who I am," Damen said.

Laurent's eyelids flickered.  He stepped closer, moving from the bier and Damen saw that the prince had been holding the cold, dead hand of his brother.

"Everyone knows who you are.  Damianos.  Prince-killer."

To that Damen had nothing to say.

Laurent tilted his head, stepping closer.  He moved gingerly, as if his joints pained him.  Damen wondered if it was from the long hours keeping vigil at his brother's grave, or something else.  He knew little about the heir to Vere, only that he was supposedly pretty and quiet and bookish, an unremarkable boy standing in the shadow next to the golden sun that had been Auguste.

"Why are you here?" Laurent asked coldly.

"I've come to fetch you," Damen said. "We leave tomorrow for Ios. For home.  You will accompany me."

"When the sun shines in hell," Nicaise shouted.

Laurent paused thoughtfully, a hand raised to quell Nicaise.  At last he said, "No."

"Prince Laurent—"

"I'm the heir to the Veretian throne," Laurent said, face too serious for a teenage boy. "You'll not abduct me and carry me off into the savage wilds of Akielos.  My people need me."

"It's not up to you," Damen insisted, taken aback by the calm and command coming from Laurent. He was light enough for Damen to overpower in an instant, but he didn't act at all afraid. "And it's not abduction.  And your council has agreed."

Laurent cocked his head. For the first time, he seemed to actually hear what Damen was saying, to give his words the weight they deserved.

"My father has issued the edict of _opheilema_ ," Damen said. "We…I…am honor bound to mentor you in the Akeilon ways. To help raise you as a man. It is a debt I must repay because…because…I took your brother's life."

"You murdered him," Nicaise bit off.

"Yes."

"At the bequest of my uncle," Laurent said icily. He stepped up until he was toe to toe with Damen. Damen could smell the sweet tang of alcohol wafting off the prince's skin.  Not drunk; his words were too clear.  But perhaps recovering from a previous night of drunken grieving.

 "You were a puppet, no, a dog, an Akielon cur brought to hand by my father's traitor."

"I—"

"Because of you, my father and my brother lie there," Laurent pointed. "Because of you."

"Yes," Damen said finally, shame curling his back a bit.  So different from before, before he knew the truth.  There had been fear and adrenaline, fighting for his life against Auguste, and then pride, at being the victor and shining in his father's eyes.  The thrill of taking the fort and seeing the Veretians somber with defeat.

Before, he had been righteous and proud.  Before, he hadn't known he was a pawn in a much larger game. Tricked by Veretian treachery.

This boy had been orphaned by his own flesh and blood.

"If it was in my power," Laurent said calmly, "I would destroy you, utterly, in every possible way."

"We hold the fort," Damen said, retreating verbally.  He felt off balance, trying to match wits with a thirteen-year old boy with a tongue like a knife. "And the council agreed to Akielos' terms."

"The council agreed," Laurent said softly, thoughtfully. "Which members?"

"Does it matter?" Damen asked, because truth be told, he didn't know.  He had been kept away from the negotiations—the Veretians viewing his presence distasteful; due to his role the death of the Prince—and had only learned of the Regent's betrayal this morning.  The upheaval of Veretian society had been swift and confusing.

"Oh-lee-phay-ma," Nicaise interrupted, butchering the word, "What does that nonsense mean in that barbarian pig-squeal you call a language?"

"The King of Akielos has made the Prince ward of the court," Damen said formally, retreating behind protocol. "He entrusts the prince's life and well-being unto his youngest son.  Me."

"The council has given you a human trinket," Nicaise sneered. "A princely pet. A slave."

"No," Damen said, recoiling.  He had heard of them, pets, the lovers kept by Veretian nobility.  Spoiled and pettish and demanding. He wasn't interested.  And Laurent as a slave?  Damen idly supposed the prince had the beauty for it, cold as the boy was.  He was the right age to begin training.  He himself had been gifted with a body slave at sixteen, a girl his own age, ripe with pale curves. But slaves yielded, pliant and soft and lovely.  They didn't spar with words, or stand like ice statues, rigid with grief and rage.

"You are my ward," Damen repeated, wondering if the word had another meaning in Veretian.  Both the prince and Nicaise had reacted subtly to the word. "I am entrusted to guide you into Akielon manhood, in the honorable ways of our people."

"Honorable!" Nicaise exploded. "You filthy half-naked dogs, stumbling around with your cock in one hand and your sword in another—"

"Enough," Laurent said.  He raised an eyebrow at Damen.  His eyes were crystal blue, red-rimmed from sorrow. "I suppose if I refuse, you'll simply swing me over your shoulder and carry me to your horse."

"You leave with us tomorrow," Damen said firmly. "With or without your consent."

"And what about me?" Nicaise demanded.

"Who are you?" Damen asked, frowning, and was both confused and pleased to see Nicaise's mouth tumble open, but no words issue from it.

"My companion," Laurent interjected quickly. "He's the youngest son of a noble house.  My…father felt that it would be…welcome, for me to have a friend my own age."

"He's got the mouth of a guttersnipe," Damen said bluntly. He could think of no worse companion for a young prince.  The child was rude, mouthy and unmanageable.  Nicaise was gazing at Laurent intently, mouth still hanging open.

"I release him from his obligations," Laurent said softly, looking at Nicaise. "He may go home if he wishes.  I'd not have him dragged unwilling into a foreign land."

"Of course," Damen said, sensing that there was something else going on, an underlying thread in the conversation.

"The hell I will," Nicaise shouted.  His blue eyes, a darker shade than Laurent's, flashed with fire. "I'm coming with you."

"You'll probably regret it," Laurent said.

"I already regret everything," Nicaise snapped. "And I reserve the right to complain endlessly about being thrown into a pen of dumb, circus-trained bears and being told they're going to teach us how to be civilized."

"You will have a retinue," Damen said. "Guards, tutors…"

"I'll make a list," Laurent interrupted.  He stepped around Damen and began to mount the steps, limping slightly.  With one last vicious look at Damen, Nicaise hurried to join him, wrapping an arm around the prince's waist.

"A short list," Damen replied, still feeling bizarrely as if he was being sent to organize a casual tour of Akielos for Laurent, rather than informing the Prince of his new state in life.

"I understand," Laurent said, looking back over his shoulder.  He met Damen's eyes, his gaze positively frigid.  "Just know that whatever you deem necessary for me to learn, there is one thing I will never forget."

Damen shifted uneasily.

"I'm going to kill you," Laurent said, face pale and furious, and with that he was up the stairs and quickly out of Damen's sight.

Alone in the crypt, Damen's eyes drifted over to the two bodies laid in state.  The King and the Crown Prince.  Auguste's fine features has hardened in death, his skin grayish, mouth slack.  His golden hair was as bright as ever.  His father's pride and joy, they had said. Learned and kind and glowing with good health and humor. A born king.

Damen had snuffed that out.

Pushing away the feelings churning in his gut, Damen focused his mind on the future.  Laurent was obviously no glowing example of leadership, no natural king. He was small and weak and shrill, with questionable judgement when it came to those he surrounded himself with.

It would take everything that Damen was to make him a fit ruler for Vere.

Seven years, Damen reminded himself as he climbed the stairs.  He had seven years to mold the Crown Prince of Vere into a model ruler.  To insure the peaceful stability of both their kingdoms, neighbors ruling justly.  An end to wars and machinations.

It was going to be difficult to say the least.


End file.
